


snow day

by Satine86



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, Pining, carwheeler appreciation week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 08:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16991625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: There is a fleeting, powerful urge to draw closer. A yearning need to walk -- no, to run -- toward him; to fling her arms around him and kiss him.





	snow day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Carwheeler Appreciation Week day 2: "I can't have you."

The snowfall is sudden. Accumulating in the night until several inches cover most of the city. In places it’s a picturesque sight, beautiful and charming. In others the roads turn to mud and slush, the magic lost in the reality of city life. 

Luckily outside the circus it is more pretty than not, most everyone locked inside and the street leading to their building has been left mostly untouched. The sky is still overcast and the slate grey clouds are hanging low in the sky, heavy and fat. It seems it’s only a matter of time before more of the crystalline white powder is dumped on them.

Anne decides to step out for a short while, enjoying the way the air smells. Clean and crisp. She also enjoys how the snow crunches under her feet, and the way her boots sink up to her ankles with each step. And she isn’t the only one who enjoys it.

She can hear the delighted shrieking of the Barnum girls as they race through the winter wonderland. Before Anne can see them, she finds a snowman in her path. The coal-black eyes and carrot nose are not what draws her attention, but rather a familiar scarf and hat. Maroon, rich and warm, and finely made. Again she hears them before she sees them. This time not just Caroline and Helen squealing and laughing happily, but a deeper voice as well. Just as familiar and rich and warm.

Looking around the corner of the building, Anne does her best to remain hidden. Out of sight. The girls are in the middle of a snowball war with Phillip, and loose powdery snow flies through the air until it looks like a snow globe that has been shook up. The girls can barely catch their breath, they’re laughing so hard. Their cheeks and noses a bright rosy pink in the cold.

Anne can barely catch her own breath. It sticks in her throat, as if froze. Like everything else around her. He’s happy, his eyes light and his smile wide. His cheeks are pink as well, from laughter and cold. Flecks of white dapple his jacket and hair. He looks perfectly at ease, and it makes her ache.

Everything around Anne loses its enchantment in an instant. There is no magic in the air, no sparkle to the snow when the light hits it just right. Instead it is bleak and cold and dismal. Anne can feel it settling within her, right down to the very marrow of her bones. A pain that will not subside. It nearly chokes her, makes her heart constrict inside her chest. It almost burns. But not white hot like a flame, this is icy cold. Numbing.

She looks at Phillip, still oblivious to her presence. Still enjoying himself, just as carefree as the girls. Anne can only marvel at the warmth of his smile and the way it lights up his face. There is a fleeting, powerful urge to draw closer. A yearning need to walk -- no, to run -- toward him; to fling her arms around him and kiss him. To hold him close and let his warmth melt every frozen part of her.

But she won’t. She can’t.

Not when her own words come bubbling to the surface. A constant reminder of the choices she made. The choices she still makes. Anne looks at him now, untroubled. Unburdened. No, she can’t. So she turns to leave before she is forced to look into fathomless blue eyes. To see the joy morph into pain. To relive his heartbreak. And hers.

Quickly and silently she leaves before he sees her. Her limbs stiff and her heart heavy as if an anchor is holding it down. Still she longs to turn and run to him. To laugh and smile and feel his warmth.

She doesn’t. Because she knows she can’t have him. He’s not hers and he never would be. As she turns away from the warm and welcoming sight before her, slinking back to the circus to nurse her self-inflicted wounds, all she feels is cold.


End file.
